


And the Fires Are Burning

by anr



Category: Jericho (US 2006)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-25
Updated: 2009-01-25
Packaged: 2017-11-04 11:16:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/393210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anr/pseuds/anr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not a goodbye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And the Fires Are Burning

**Author's Note:**

> _Coalition Of The Willing_ (1x21). "Winter" (Tori Amos).

_'cause things are gonna change so fast_

  


* * *

  


Gail finds her in _Bailey's_ , counting antiseptic jars for Mary.

"Mimi, honey," she says, "we have some clothes for Stanley."

The jar in her hands is cracked, spiderweb-thin fractures spreading down from a chip in the rim. She doesn't think it's damage from the mortars -- the crack is too fine, the jar itself still mainly whole -- but neither can she think of another cause.

"Mimi?"

Her fingers tighten around the jar as she raises her gaze just enough to stare at the neatly folded clothes in Gail's hands.

"Black's not really his colour," she says, and it's a stupid thing to say, she knows that, but everything about today -- about their _world_ \-- is insane right now, so why should she be any different?

Gail's expression softens and somehow that's worse than the shattering sound the jar makes when she throws it into the trash.

  


* * *

  


She almost can't believe the damage in the street outside -- the crumbling chunks of brick and concrete, the shattered glass sprinkled like fairy dust, the thick layer of dust and grit. Though she knows it can't be, that it was completely incinerated, she nevertheless finds herself wondering if DC might look like this, maybe...

Stanley's in the town hall, talking to some of the men at the bottom of the stairs. When she walks inside, his gaze finds hers immediately, eyes quickly scanning her from head to toe and back again.

 _I'm okay_ , she signs, nodding.

He nods back before looking away and returning to his conversation.

There's a bench against the wall, a rifle resting on it. Clutching the clothes a little tighter, she inches the rifle aside and takes a seat. She can wait.

  


* * *

  


"Hey."

She starts a little at the tired greeting and opens her eyes to find him crouched in front of her, a smile struggling to appear on his face. When she looks behind him, the hallway is empty, the men he'd been talking to already gone. The traces of sunlight she can see through the broken and semi-boarded windows look weak and faded, dusk setting in; she wonders how long she's been dozing for.

"Mimi?" he asks, when she doesn't say anything. He reaches out to touch her knee. "You okay?"

"These are for you." The words are out of her mouth before she realises it, her hands already pushing the clothes resting on her lap towards him. "Gail gave them to me."

The almost-smile vanishes.

  


* * *

  


She follows him into the men's room and knows from his lack of protest just how bad it is. Propping her hip against a sink, she crosses her arms and watches him change.

"You're not allowed to die."

His shirt half off, he freezes at her words. "I'm sorry?" he says through the fabric, his muffled tone much too casual.

"You heard me." When he doesn't say anything, she prompts him. " _Stanley_?"

The shirt comes off, his gaze meeting hers. "I heard you."

"Say it." Her voice is too sharp, a trace of hysteria underlining her words. "Say, _Mimi, I'm not going to die_. Promise me."

He looks away, toeing off his shoes and unbuckling his pants. "Mimi --" he starts, and she knows he's not going to lie to her, that he's going to say he _can't_ say that, so she turns quickly, facing the sink. Her hands are shaking, and she turns the taps on hard, snatching a few sheets of paper towel from the dispenser and wetting them.

"You have blood on your neck," she says.

"I do?" Out of the corner of her eye, she sees his reflection twist in the mirror as he looks. "It's --" he swallows once, "it's not mine."

Like that makes it any better. Turning back, she waits for him to finish changing his pants before stepping forward. Carefully, she wipes his neck, his temple, pretending not to notice the way the towel changes colour in places. (Red's not his colour either.)

"I love you," he says quietly, voice barely audible as his hands settle on her hips.

Her fingers falter mid-stroke; she drops the paper towel on the floor somewhere behind him.

"What do you want me to do?" Her hands smooth nervously over his shoulders and down his chest. "Should I take Bonnie home? Should we stay here?" Mortars could fall from the sky again at any moment, she knows, but she also knows what their farm represents to New Bern. Both places are dangerous; she'll do whatever he thinks is best.

"I--" A tortured look passes over his features and she's instantly sorry she asked. "I don't know, Mimi, I--"

"Shh, shh." She shakes her head as her fingers press against his lips. "It's okay, don't worry about it."

He closes his eyes but the pained expression doesn't fade. "Just stay safe," he manages through her touch. He opens his eyes. "Please."

She nods jerkily. "I love you."

He kisses her and it's not a goodbye, not yet, not for them.

She won't let it be.

  


* * *

  


She stands on the steps of the town hall and watches Stanley leave with the others, watches the vehicles wind a path through the debris without any difficulty, like this is all just ordinary.

In the moments before they can turn off the main street, and disappear into the night, Stanley looks back at her. Just once, just briefly, just long enough for him to quickly sign, _love you_.

He's gone before she can reply.

  


* * *

  


_Bailey's_ is empty now, the Green's and their followers off preparing for war, or a bake sale, or whatever the fuck it is they think they're doing. She honestly couldn't care less.

Except that she does. She _does_ care. She cares because of Stanley, because he's _out there_ , in this nightmare, and if he -- if --

No. No if's. She really will drive herself insane if she plays that game.

Standing, she pushes away from what she still thinks of as her corner of the bar, and makes herself walk away.

  


* * *

  


The streets are crowded, what seems like half the citizens of Jericho gathered in front of the Town Hall. Most of them are armed; she shudders.

She sees Jake in the middle of the crowd and starts towards him, stopping only to tap Bonnie on the shoulder when she comes across her and Sean.

 _Go get the truck_ , she signs, and she doesn't know what Bonnie reads in her expression, but she doesn't say a word, just nods and grabs Sean's arm, tugging him away from the crowd.

She continues on towards Jake.

  


* * *

  


There is something terrible about the way Jake and Hawkins distribute the guns and rifles, handing them out to every willing man, woman and teenager, and she is reminded, suddenly, of the street barbeque the town held after the rains, and the way Gail had given her a plate of free food and a smile.

Jake's not smiling; it's the only real difference.

"You know how to use this?" he asks, as she takes the rifle from him.

She nods. "Stanley showed me."

Once, before he left for New Bern. She didn't do very well.

Hawkins taps him on the shoulder and Jake looks at him briefly, nodding, before turning back to her. "What are you gonna do?"

She looks down at the weapon in her hands and thinks of Stanley, of Bonnie, and of how they've taken her in, given her a home, included her in their family.

She thinks of how this was never, ever meant to be her life.

She shoulders the rifle. "I'm going home."

  


* * *

The End

**Author's Note:**

> ORIGINAL URL: <http://anr.livejournal.com/328685.html>


End file.
